Player of Games
by NotPaul
Summary: Minecraft is no other than game, and STEVEs are just projects. What if it is different for out protagonist? What if there is something outside the unseen borders of Minecraft? He will find out that his world is not as big as he thought, and someone i going to show him that there is something outside the 'cube'. [Note: Prologue may be edited without notice]


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Beforehand,

I thank you for:

- **BlackDragon41**, an amazing senpai and an amazing writer-

- **ArchertheWarlock,** an awesome fella-

- **Exb756** for the inspirations from his stories to start this story-

- and more others that I talked to and are great friends, I thank all of you -

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**WARNING:** _This story contains a different-named Steve (still 'steve', but later will have different name), different-named Herobrine, the authors that kindly have let me include them as avatars in this story, some OCs, and some sci-fi/fantasy/adventure setting. Please get off immediately to avoid useless hate messages. Also, if I may ask, please give me suggestions for this story. Basically, it's an idea that I developed for some time. It's ok if not a lot of people like it; I don't mind. Suggestions are greatly appreciated.  
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_Also, I am sorry for grammar and spelling mistakes. My grammar is not advanced and I'm not a native English speaker. _

_Story does** not** include **youtubers** and obvious romance._

**_Minecraft and all characters and stuff belonged to Mojang._**

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_**Player of Games**_

_Minecraft fan-made fiction_

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**Prologue/**

_A Day for a Miner_

_ ._

His name is Steve Kravvt.

When people asked him who he is, his answer will be 'a humble miner living in a crevice in a mountain, over to the south-east and beyond a vast river'. He lives in a land called Minecraftia, and he is in the middle of his thirties. His favourite attire is a teal t-shirt and purple pants and grey boots.

He was a man who mined every day at least one hour, digging out various materials and valuables, starting from a heap of coal to some diamonds weighed more than 5 pounds, and also a farmer and owned a barn of every animal he would sell at the end of the week, and some for his food supplies.

Steve has a daily routine he does each day, which included waking up early in the morning, just as the sun rose from the hills in front of his home. First, he would dust up everything in his two-roomed house, sweep the floor, clean the window panes and wash his clothes, giving them a good scrub and dumped them in a cauldron of boiling water, before hanging them outside. After the hard work of keeping his house clean as per usual, he would take his woollen towel and a clean set of clothes and took a shower inside his own piston bathroom, and brushed his teeth. Sometimes he will shave when his goatee got too long.

Sometime later he would be in front of the furnace, blowing the charcoal to start a fire and cooked himself some chicken or fish and baked himself a bread, and filled his stomach before grabbing a pick and an iron helmet and went to the mines just in a ravine situated beside his mountain and work. After he mined as long as he desired, he would bring all that he acquired back to his house, sort them out in the storage and write them down on his journal to keep track what he sold and what he owned. He would then feed his livestock and collect the eggs from his chickens, and sorted them out as well. Other than that, he would also go to the top of a small hill beside his home, and farm, harvesting wheat and pumpkins and potatoes, and replant them, and store them in a small grain silo, secured inside chests.

Usually, he finished all his chores by evening, before the sun sets. By then he would retire to the woollen couch in front of the fireplace, of course after heating the water in a cauldron and give himself a warm, warm bath. He would use a white sweater he knitted himself, and get comfy while writing a journal and having his toes warmed by the warmth of the hearth. Sometimes he has a blanket on as well. Anything that would make one relaxed and content will be in his disposal. This behaviour will continue until Steve feels his eyes grow heavy and went to the bed to sleep and start another day.

As he lay down on his bed, crossing his arms behind his head and stare at the ceiling, Steve has some thoughts going around his head. One of them felt grateful because his life is far from poverty. In this place, the villagers trade, but with all that he has, he has achieved all that he needed. A nice bed, a warm home located in solitude, enough food even though he retired. Maybe one day he'll find a soulmate and live together and have children together, although he hasn't found one just yet, but he will surely find one. They will live in a nice, bigger home. They will farm and be together until they die. And to be honest, Steve wished it just goes on so fast, these days of solitude. It is pretty quiet here, and villagers aren't really good people to talk with, at least for him.

There are also these times he thought that his life has been too easy. There are mobs, of course, and creepers that seemed to invade his lawn every single night and exploded smack in the middle of the gravel road he made to the village. Still, all these things are starting to bore him a little, despite his everyday mood to always smile and cheer up and believe there's an adventure out there, and he only has to keep believing. He always comes back after being dead anyway, so why bother?

Another side of him objected, though. After that 'incident' of the man with glowing eyes, he vowed to never venture to the open more than 1000 blocks outside his home. He is safe in here, safe inside the rock and the shell protecting him from outside harm. Why would he venture too far and repeating that mistake again?

That is the only thing stopping him from doing anything stupid. Of course, the incident with 'him', the name the villagers whisper to one another like a dark taboo, and the atmosphere becomes twice heavier. Sure, there are no incidents there, but still, people are scared out of their wits when that name rung in the air, shaking everyone and vowed to never talk about it again.

The name, Herobrine.

Steve had met him, and less to say, he would not wish to remember what had happened with 'him'. Let's just say it was worse than having a creeper exploding in front of your face.

He would not dare.

And so, his thoughts for the day ended as he closed his eyes and succumbed to a deep sleep.

He's happy.

Happy with this life.

Or is he?

* * *

_"STEVE0-01A is undergoing through a process of thinking outside the 'cube of protection,"_

Screens illuminated the vast room, filled with dark creatures, organized and sitting on metallic chairs, nimble, long fingers quickly made their way, pressing and typing and reading in incredible speed. Their eyes glow in the dark, and they are not speaking in the language we, humans, speak. They speak the tongues of lost language, and their eyes glows in the dark, blaring purple, despite the blue screens in front of them. There, in the center, stood another one of the dark beings, with its skin wrinkled and pale like an old man, and hunched back. The eyes are still glaring with a malicious ferocity, and its teeth, though still intact, are cracking and bending in old angles.

_"The first STEVE, I see..."_ He spoke, turning to the screen as the projected image of the miner sleeping was shown on the radar, his chest rising and falling, clearly seen. The creature smiled at the sleeping man, its lips chipped and its teeth bared.

_"Are you sure we are going to do this, your Mightiness?"_ one of the dark figures asked monotonously, eyes never leaving the screen. _"The subject is, of course, a suitable vessel for both the 'crystal' and you. He has the perfect balance."_

_"Ah, yes, of course..."_ The leader chuckled, looking at its own hands, brittle and dry. _"This body of your kind, the Jetrenekth kind, aren't too strong to handle my power and let me stay in the midst of all of you. The young man shall fit perfectly, just like that boy has."_ He clicked his tongue and balled his fist._ "Such a shame. Turns out, humans do work better to leech upon, bu no matter; for now, you are enough." _

_"Ah yes, the boy,"_ another interjected. _"He is a balance too. Not powerful enough to hold the 'crystal', but nevertheless, the transfer works perfectly. Even better, to be said." _

_"Such a shame." _

_"Such a shame."_

"This man is dangerous," the old one slowly made its way to its chair, hidden in the shadows, as purple particles floated behind it, before slowly vanishing. _"Yet, he does not know anything. If we play the cards right, soon everything will fall into place."_

_"We, are the spirit of deceit, anyway." _

_"Indeed." _

_"STEVE04-12 has defeated an Enderdragon." _

_"Send one of us to use him as a vessel; see if it works." _

_"STEVE1096-31 has died due to pressure." _

_"Discard him."_

And thus, the cycle continues, and they talk as if they are monitoring a herd of livestock, as the old one sat in the middle, watching everything unfold, his hands clasped in front of his face.

_"Your Mightiness, there has been a breach in one of our systems." _

He perked and rose.

_"The boy. He is trying once more to breach into the 'cube of protection." _

_"Let him be." _

_"Your M-"_

The old one raises his hand, and turned back to his seat.

_"He never succeeded. He will never succeed."_ He inquired. _"He is just a boy." _

_"Nevertheless, with a part of you in it, he is dangerous." _

_"He just inherited a small portion of me. It is not a big matter. If he did break in, it will be an advantage to us." _

_"Yes, Your Mightiness."_

Nothing else was heard except the statuses of thousands of the STEVE projects, living their lives in large cubes just underneath them. They will never know. They will never care. They will never wake up.

It's just a game.

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**Well, so far that's all I get for this story.**

**And yes_, Jetrenekth_ are Endermen, and this is inspired from exb756's story 'The Gathering Storm' where the Endermen are the bad guys. I have not read other stories that that, and I've favorited some but no time to read. I am thoroughly sorry. He is a great writer.**

**Anyway, it's just the prologue. Steve has a name, so stay tuned. **

**Also, give me comments, ok? If it's good or whatever. Nevertheless, still posting it, though. **

**Thanks for reading!**


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